Chapter Twelve
Illias
“I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.”
The minute Illias walked behind the counter, Jasmine’s eyes were glued on his neck.
Needy customers kept her from having a moment of peace to badger him about the mark for the first few hours they worked.
Every time she tried to talk to him, one or both of them were called away.
Hoping that they would continue to miss each other like boats in the night, Illias stepped up to pull a beer.
Unfortunately, Jasmine joined his side a second later.
“Who, what, when, where, and why?” she said, nudging him with her hip with every w-question.
“The who isn’t your business, I don’t know how to answer the what, but as for the when, where, and why? That is”—Illias paused for dramatic effect— “also none of your business.”
“You’re no fun,” she pouted. “Just give me some dirty deets.”
Illias rolled his eyes. “My sex life is none of your concern.”
“Uh, it so totally is!” Her eyes widened comically as she looked at the mark then back at him.
“That thing on your neck literally popped up the day after you and that guy went into the bathroom together and he left bragging about getting your number. Speaking of!” She slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand.
“Fucking dick, don’t be using my number for your heathen activities! ”
He laughed, nearly sloshing the beer over the edge of the cup in his hand. “Okay, okay, I won’t. But I’m not saying shit because I, my good lady, do not kiss and tell.”
He turned on his heels and went to deliver the beer, leaving Jasmine floundering at the tabs. She turned quickly and lobbed her bar rag at him. “Bullshit!” she exclaimed, drawing the attention of a few of the customers sitting at the counter. “Don’t kiss and tell my ass!”
“Jasmine, knock it off,” Maverick scolded when he walked up to the bar. “You two bicker like siblings.”
Illias stuck his tongue out at her and she retaliated with the finger.
Maverick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, I really did hire children.”
“While they may act like children, I’m afraid they’re both adults,” an all too familiar voice commented, startling both Illias and Maverick.
“Jesus—shit.” Maverick clutched his chest from Cantrell’s sudden appearance. “Sorry, but you can’t just sneak up on people like that.”
“My apologies, I didn’t intend to scare anybody.” He looked at Illias, eyes flickering down to the mark for a fraction of a second. “Tea, please.”
Thankful to busy himself with a simple task, Illias moved to grab a cup.
He had managed to ignore the simmering want that remained from their interaction hours ago but it only took Cantrell’s appearance to bring it back full force.
Illias walked down to the far end of the bar where Cantrell stationed himself.
The priest reached for the cup, his fingers grazing Illias’.
His heart fluttered at the slight touch.
“I wanted to apologize,” Cantrell spoke underneath the sound of the game playing above their heads. “I forgot myself and got carried away. For that, I’m sorry.”
Illias fussed with the items beneath the bar, pretending to work so that Maverick or Jasmine didn’t come over. “Don’t be. I liked it.”
Heat rose up his neck when he realized what he had said. He stood up, ready to defend himself but Cantrell’s dark eyes on his neck kept him quiet. “I wish you hadn’t said that,” Cantrell breathed, fingers wrapped tightly around his glass.
Illias leaned across the bar, pretending to wipe it clean so he was close enough he could feel the heat radiating off Cantrell. “Why is that, Father? Afraid you might squeeze next time?”
Cantrell choked on his drink. He coughed a few times, placing a hand over his chest. “Fuck,” the ragged curse from his mouth only worsened the growing arousal that swirled within Illias’ core.
“I’m afraid your vows prevent that from happening. If only though, if only.”
“How has your penance been?” Cantrell shot back. Illias stiffened, caught off guard. “Behave.” Chills went down Illias’ arms. “For the rest of your penance. I’d hate to extend it.”
“But—”
The warning look Cantrell gave made Illias squirm but he closed his mouth. He still had far too much time left to his penance and didn’t want to risk adding more to it.
A week into his penance, Illias couldn’t even think straight.
The first few days came and went with ease.
He was used to casual denial from time to time to make his release a little sweeter the next time he had alone time.
However, by Sunday, every muscle was tense, every nerve shot from how tightly wound he was.
He was overly sensitive to touch and almost buckled when Jasmine snapped the bar rag against his ass as a joke.
It was pathetic how bad he needed it. How he craved it like an animal in heat.
Pressing his hands against the smooth tile of the shower, he hung his head beneath the icy stream of water in an attempt to clear his head.
He couldn’t keep going like this, desperate and needy for release.
He needed to talk to Cantrell, beg him to lift the penance if necessary.
Anything to get permission to relieve the ache between his thighs.
His phone chimed and buzzed from the bathroom counter, drawing his attention to the fact he had promised he would go to Saint Anthony’s again with Charity.
He turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel before going to pick out an outfit.
Knowing he may end up covered in filth, he settled for a DIY-bleached band t-shirt and sweatpants that he didn’t care much about.
His phone chimed again as he finished pulling on his boots.
Maybe he’ll be there again, Illias thought as he headed out to Charity’s car.
I could get him by himself and convince him to lift my penance…
somehow. Charity greeted him with a smile when he got in and launched into the latest professor drama she had.
Illias listened quietly all the way to the shelter.
However, the minute Charity parked, Illias was more than ready to put his pent-up energy to good use.
Not bothering to wait for her, he hurried inside and went straight for the supplies closet.
To his delight, Cantrell stood in the center of the small space, back to the door.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Illias said, causing Cantrell to jump. “Looks like you’re not the only one who can sneak up on people.”
“Very funny.” Cantrell turned to face him. “How are you, Illias?”
Illias hated the formality Cantrell used when he thought they weren’t alone. “About that.” Illias glanced both ways down the hallway then stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I need to talk to you about this whole penance thing.”
“Oh?” Cantrell crossed his arms. “Not a glutton for punishment after all?”
“Not this particular punishment, no.” Illias stepped forward, shortening the distance between them. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know if I’ll survive until next Tuesday.”
“Is that so?”
Illias caught a hint of pride in Cantrell’s voice. He’s getting off on this, the bastard. “Please Father, have mercy.” Illias stepped closer, walking his fingers up Cantrell’s chest. “I’ve been so good since Saturday.”
Cantrell grabbed Illias’ hand but didn’t push him away. “Beg all you want, but your penance won’t be lifted until next Tuesday.”
“Father, please.”
“No, and that’s final.” Cantrell released Illias’ hand to grip his chin instead, pulling it down so that they were eye to eye. “If you’re good for the rest for your penance, perhaps I’ll consider lifting it when you come to confess.”
Illias knees weakened and his stomach flipped. “Yes sir.”
“Try again.”
“Yes Father.”
“Good boy.”
Illias bit back a whine and prayed Cantrell didn’t notice how hard the praise made him.
Cantrell released Illias’ chin, then stepped around him and left the closet without another word.
Caught between feeling rejected and painfully aroused, Illias snatched the tool bag from the shelf while grumbling bitterly under his breath one more fucking week.